Triple Distilled
by LadyShiva17
Summary: Shepard needs some time to herself. And a drink. (Rated M for language)


**Author's Note:** Here's a snippet of tipsy/turned-on/angry/curious Shepard. Lol whatever. R &R! I love it when you do!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Bioware's characters. Yup.

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Triple-Distilled

The place was pretty dark, and the music was pounding. The amber liquid in her glass rippled with the heavy beat. Her eyes had adjusted to the reddish lighting and the bright neon lights that flashed every few seconds didn't make her squint anymore. Good thing. She'd been there almost an hour.

And she was on her third drink. Triple-distilled turian bourbon. It was the closest thing to scotch that she could get at Afterlife. And thanks to Operative Lawson, she could down it like it was the real thing. Cerberus had been too kind. So considerate of her affectation for alcohol.

She hadn't tested out the effects of ryncol on her new insides just yet, but she was looking forward to it. Urdnot Wrex would probably piss himself. She snorted a laugh into her glass and took a sip, relishing the bitter liquid that ran down her throat.

The empty tumbler slid across the table and she leaned back in her seat contentedly, and watched. Aria T'Loak certainly made sure to keep this place as stimulating as possible. The shiny costumes the asari dancers wore were especially eye-catching. Not just to humans. Every species in the place seemed captivated. Perhaps captivated wasn't the right word. Excited. Yeah. Shepard grunted affirmatively to herself.

An asari edged into her view and started writhing to the music, beckoning someone, anyone, to join her.

She wouldn't call them care-free, exactly. But they weren't focused on their problems in this club. Just down a level in the wards, a plague had nearly decimated half of Omega. Not to mention the bloody street war involving three rival gangs over a problematic vigilante. There was crime, poverty, hatred and suspicion amongst species. Dirt and grime. Death. But here, they came together. And if they could behave themselves, they could forget about all of that for the time being, at the poignantly-named Afterlife. Forget their troubles for just a few hours.

And so could she.

It didn't take long for the asari to find a willing candidate. A turian had accepted her invitation to dance, and Shepard watched as he wandered up to her, slowly and deliberately. He was handsome. The exact color of his facial markings wasn't obvious in the low lighting, but they were lighter than his skin tone, that she could tell. He slipped an arm around her waist and started to match her movements.

Shepard was getting warm. She waved over at the bartender and, making eye contact, she held up one finger. She propped an elbow onto the table and rested her chin in her hand as she waited for her fourth drink.

Fucking Cerberus.

Who the hell did they think they were to decide whether or not she should be dead?

The human waitress almost spilled the bourbon on her as she hurriedly tossed it onto the table, before scurrying off to prevent a fistfight between a krogan and a batarian on the other side of the room. Shepard didn't care, she was grateful she was gone. She didn't need a rehash of the look on the waitress' face from when she'd ordered her third drink. She wasn't here to be judged.

"Thanks," she mumbled and brought the glass to her lips and savoured a sip. She liked the flavour of the turian version. It was spicier.

Her eyes found the dancing couple again, and she was suddenly more impressed by the turian's moves than the asari's. While the blue-skinned beauties were graceful and fluid, they tended to be overly sensual. Soft. At least, to Shepard. But as the turian danced, she observed how much more primal, animal, his movements seemed. He was curt and demanding with her body, but not too rough. Eventually, the asari began to imitate his behaviour. She grabbed his neck and ground her hips into his, her fingernails digging into his plated skin. Shepard could hear his pleased growl from her table, a good ten feet away. He gripped her waist, forcefully, and pulled her even closer.

Shepard was fascinated, even through the alcohol-induced haze. Her face flushed as she watched the turian bow his head and tentatively lick his partner's neck. The asari giggled and took his hand, leading him to a dark corner of the club. Shepard's gaze followed them, but when they intertwined and the asari started combing her fingers through the turian's fringe, she looked away. It was too intimate to watch.

Her fingers fondled the glass in front of her, staring at it, and the liquid inside, instead. Turian bourbon. It was good. Went down a little too easy, she thought dryly. She wondered what other little gifts Cerberus had bestowed upon her. She'd have to ask Miranda. On second thought, maybe she could get Solus to take a look. He seemed nice, and knowledgeable. He would be preferable to Lawson. The woman seemed put off by Shepard, even cold. Honestly, it didn't bother Shepard one bit. She still wasn't comfortable with any of the Cerberus crew. Taylor seemed like a stand-up guy, and Kelly sure came on strong, but she found it impossible to trust them. Not yet.

It may have been two years for them, but not for her.

She took a quick swig of the dextro drink and hissed as it burned it's way down her throat. The bourbon made her think of Garrus. He liked this stuff, too, she seemed to recall him telling her once. She thought about buying him a bottle. As a 'welcome back' gift. She laughed to herself. Of course, if she was in Dark Star or Flux, there's no way anyone would sell her a bottle. Not after so many drinks. But, hell, this was Omega. Who gave a shit?

Finishing her drink off, she stood up. Her head spun for a moment, and she brought a palm up to her temple, as though it might help with the slight throb. It didn't, but she shuffled over to the bar anyway. The turian bartender gave her a curious look, but still sold her the item. She thanked him and paid for her drinks. Full price, plus a tip. Spectres didn't warrant special treatment here on Omega, and as much as she liked getting discounts, she didn't mind. It was nice to be treated like a regular person once in a while. Especially when she wanted to drink, alone, in a dark corner of a dirty bar.

She tried to find that couple one last time before exiting the club, but they were no where to be found. Shepard smiled and shook her head. That turian certainly had the moves. She left and headed for the docks, bourbon in hand.

The grin still on her face, she wondered if Archangel was just as impressive a dancer.


End file.
